Death by Delusion
by Deana
Summary: Aramis is poisoned with deadly belladonna. Athos, Porthos, and d'Artagnan are with him, but can they keep him alive through violent and terrifying hallucinations, especially while in the middle of nowhere away from Paris? My entry in the October Fete des Mousquetaires contest! (Not a deathfic.)
1. Poisoned

Death by Delusion  
A Musketeers story by Deana

My entry in the October Fete des Mousquetaires contest!

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In the end, what it took was a well-placed rock to fell him. One second Aramis was riding, and the next he was lying in the grass in pain, blinking up at three men who were pointing pistols at him.

"I think you have something for me," one of the men said.

"What?" Aramis answered, confused.

"Don't try to fool us, we were told you'd be passing this way," said the same man.

Aramis wondered if he was dreaming. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Go check his saddlebags," the man told one of the others.

Aramis tried to sit up, but the leader stepped closer with his pistol, so Aramis had no choice but to lie there on the ground and wait.

"He doesn't have it!" the man exclaimed.

The leader frowned. "Where is it?" he asked.

"I don't have _'it'_ ," Aramis told him. "And even if I did, I wouldn't give it to you."

"Who _are_ you?" the leader asked.

"Aramis of the King's Musketeers," Aramis told him. "You have the wrong man."

The three men looked at each other before the leader said, "Then there's only one thing we can do, since we obviously can't let you live." He stuck a hand in his pocket and took something out. "These were meant for the man we took you for." He looked at the others. "Open his mouth."

The two henchmen grabbed Aramis and pulled him into a sitting position, with one of them yanking his arms behind his back while the other grabbed his head.

Aramis fought them and struggled to get free, but was punched in the stomach for it. The breath was knocked from his lungs and he gave a desperate gasp, accidentally enabling his enemy to shove something into his mouth and push his jaw closed.

Berries.

It was obvious that they were poisonous, so Aramis fought the men even harder, desperate to spit them out. Pushing his jaw closed had made him chew them, and he knew that he would likely die if he didn't get them out of his mouth. He was suddenly kicked over his right kidney, which made him gasp again and inhale some of the berries. He started to choke and the men let go of him, assuming that he'd swallowed them.

Aramis fell forward onto his hands, holding himself upright as he spit out the rest and choked again on what he'd inhaled. He accidentally swallowed when he felt them move into his throat, and knew that he was in big trouble.

"You're going to die now, musketeer," he heard, as he tried to breathe. "At least we'll get some entertainment out of watching your end. You know what those were, I assume?"

Aramis could easily guess and closed his eyes when he started to feel lightheaded. "Belladonna."

"That's right! Three berries can kill. Do you know how many you just ate?"

Aramis waited for his answer, not surprised when his enemy purposely made him wait.

"Six," he finally said. "Or was it seven?"

 _Two,_ Aramis guessed. Though chewing seven and swallowing two could still prove deadly.

"How long do you think you have before you die in agony, musketeer?"

The 'in agony' part was correct. He could feel his heartbeat speeding up as the substance invaded his bloodstream, and his surroundings started taking on an eerie look and feel.

"Look, it's starting already!" one of the men exclaimed.

Aramis wondered what they saw in his face that made it so obvious to them. He noticed strange noises coming out of the woods, and blinked at the leaves swaying in the breeze, confused to see that they were blue, not green. The darkening evening seem to grow lighter, and he scrambled back off his hands, sitting on the ground as he rubbed at his eyes.

Suddenly, a bizarre feeling spread through his hands and he pulled them away from his face to find them covered with blood. It was all over them, dripping from his fingertips and landing on his pants.

The sight filled him with horror and he shook his hands to get rid of the blood. He watched the bright red drops fly into the air, but it remained on his hands despite it. Rubbing them on his pants increased the stains on the fabric, but didn't decrease the amount of blood on his skin.

Sudden noises came out of the woods again and Aramis lifted his head to look. The blue leaves swayed in the breeze, which Aramis realized he could actually see: lines of air ran parallel to the ground, fast or slow depending on the speed of the wind, and they knocked loose some of the blue leaves, which flew towards him and landed in his lap.

Aramis picked one up to study it. The bright red blood from the stains on his pants colored the blue leaf and turned it purple in spots. He studied it so intently that he didn't even realize that there was no more blood on his hands.

The visible air plucked the leaf out of his hand and carried it off, and as Aramis watched it fly, the scenery tilted and everything turned into water.

With a gasp, Aramis lurched backwards, irrationally thinking that he couldn't swim, even though he could. In an instant, the water vanished and everything went back to how it should be...except for the birds that flew out of the woods.

An impossible amount of crows flew towards him, flying low and brushing his head and body as they passed him. His hands, which had no longer been covered with blood, suddenly were once again, and the biggest crow landed on his leg. It stood in the wet, red stain and poked at his hands.

Aramis gave an exclamation of shock and tried to push it off himself. The blood on his hands got all over the black feathers, but the bird was too heavy for Aramis to move. He desperately looked for something that he could use for a weapon and spotted a rock. Grabbing it, he hit the bird over and over, but it had no effect.

"GET...OFF...ME!" Aramis shouted. He could say nothing else as his racing heart made it difficult to breathe, and he hit the crow one more time, giving a cry of shock when it exploded like glass.

Aramis' captors quietly watched the hallucinating musketeer. They'd stopped laughing a while ago and quietly stared in shocked fascination as the innocent surroundings appeared to torment him.

Aramis quickly covered his face, feeling the glass slice into his arms even though he was wearing his leather doublet. Once he was sure that the crow was gone, he glanced around, seeing the scenery as if looking at a child's drawing; everything was the wrong shape and color.

Unexpectedly, a gunshot pierced the air.

Aramis looked towards the sound, watching as three men appeared and attacked his friends.

Athos, Porthos, and d'Artagnan were taken by surprise and didn't stand a chance; the fight didn't last long before they were slaughtered right before his eyes.

"NO!" Aramis shouted. He climbed to his feet and lurched towards his enemies, feeling like he was trying to breathe underwater.

Hands grabbed him, easily deflecting his attack. They held him tightly, stopping him from doing them any damage and trying to sit him down.

"NO!" he shouted. "You will pay for this!"

Voices spoke to him...too many of them. He couldn't make sense of the words and covered his ears with his bloody hands. "No! No! No!" he kept shouting.

Someone shook him…someone with the strength of Porthos. "Stop it!" he exclaimed to the man. "You're going to die…I'll kill you for what you've done!" His breathing came faster and he felt like he couldn't pull in enough air. His heart was beating so fast that he could feel it inside his chest seemingly trying to burst out.

"Aramis?!" came Porthos' voice. "What's wrong with you?!"

Aramis refused to answer, keeping his hands over his ears.

D'Artagnan watched helplessly, unsure of what to do.

Athos suddenly grabbed Aramis' wrists and pulled his hands away from his head. "Aramis!" he exclaimed. "What did they do to you?!"

"You won't…get anything…out of me!" Aramis answered, eyes still closed.

"Look at me, Aramis!" Athos said.

"No!" Aramis exclaimed.

"They drugged 'im with somethin'!" Porthos exclaimed.

"I think I know what," d'Artagnan nervously said.

Looking up, they saw the young musketeer picking something up off the ground, before looking around and shaking his head. "Belladonna," he told them, holding out two berries. "It's growing over there."

The other two saw the bushes that d'Artagnan pointed out, and their own heartbeats quickened with fear.

"We gotta get 'im outta here!" said Porthos, still holding Aramis tightly as he squirmed with more strength than they expected.

"No!" Aramis said, opening his eyes. His pupils were too large, his eyes glassy. "Don't take me away from my friends!" he closed his eyes again with an expression of grief. "You killed them…you _killed_ them…"

D'Artagnan looked over at the three dead men. "He thinks they're us…?"

"And we're them," Athos finished.

Porthos growled. "Aramis! We're right here! We saved you, you idiot!" He shook him again and Aramis reopened his eyes, staring at nothing, breathing as if he couldn't get enough air into his lungs.

Aramis suddenly looked at his hands, and started frantically wiping them on his pants.

D'Artagnan grabbed both of his hands, trying to see what was wrong with them, but found nothing. He suddenly felt a throbbing sensation through Aramis' skin, and shifted his grip to the pulse on his wrist. "His heart is beating like a racehorse!"

Athos placed his hand over Aramis' heart with a frown. "We need to calm him down!"

"Aramis!" Porthos exclaimed again, as their poisoned friend violently tried to pull his hands out of d'Artagnan's grasp. "Aramis, you stop this right now!" He tightened his hold around his friend's upper body and lowered him to the ground.

"I'll kill you all!" Aramis exclaimed. "You won't get…get away with…with…" He never finished his sentence, for his eyes suddenly slid shut and his body started to tremble.

"He's having a fit!" Athos realized. "Hold onto him, Porthos!"

"What do ya think I'm doin'?!" Porthos exclaimed, hugging their friend to his chest as Aramis violently shook.

Ten seconds later, he went completely limp.

"Aramis!" said Porthos.

Athos checked his pulse and found it still racing. "He's alive." With that, he whistled for his horse, which trotted over to them. "Build a fire," he told d'Artagnan.

Porthos watched as they both moved away. With a shaky sigh, he held onto his unconscious friend, his chin on Aramis' head. When Athos came back with his bedroll, he gently laid Aramis down on it.

The next ten minutes were spent assembling a campsite and getting rid of the three bodies. Aramis remained unconscious through it all; his heartbeat had slowed slightly now that his body was 'at rest', but it was still beating alarmingly fast, and his face looked flushed.

The other three musketeers were inwardly terrified; it was well-known that belladonna was deadly.

Nearly an hour later, Aramis suddenly twitched with a groan.

Porthos grabbed his shoulder and squeezed it. "Hey," he said. "Take it easy."

Aramis groaned again; his head was aching and it was hard to breathe.

"Aramis?" Athos said. "Open your eyes."

Aramis did, and blinked when everything he saw was blurred.

Porthos smiled. "Aramis, you scared us to death! You all right?"

Aramis said nothing at first, breathing too fast, his hands twitching.

"Aramis?" said Athos. "Do you know who we are?"

Aramis still didn't look at them. "I can see the wind," he suddenly whispered.

"The...wind?" d'Artagnan echoed.

"Blowing the blue leaves," Aramis said, his voice weak and scratchy. "Until they turn purple...when my blood gets on them."

His bizarre words sent a chill down each of their spines.

Aramis suddenly looked nervous. "Keep the crows away!" he exclaimed. "They shatter like glass!"

"Shhh," Porthos said, squeezing one of Aramis' twitching hands. "You don't have to worry, no crows'll get anywhere near you while I'm here."

"But they..." Aramis stopped in the middle of his sentence, his eyes trailing to the side as he watched some new hallucination.

The other three shared concerned looks, wondering how long the delusions caused by the poison would last. There was no guarantee yet that Aramis would even survive.

The landscape changed before Aramis' eyes and snow started to fall. "Not winter," he suddenly said, closing his eyes and shivering.

"Another fit?!" d'Artagnan nervously asked.

"He said 'not winter'," Athos replied. "He's cold."

Porthos pulled Aramis up from the bedroll and held him sideways against his chest again. "Another blanket," he requested.

D'Artagnan fetched it and they wrapped it around Aramis as he shivered against Porthos.

The imaginary snowfall abruptly halted, the flakes suspended in the air. "Time stopped," Aramis suddenly said, his voice sounding scratchier.

Hearing such bizarre things coming from Aramis was frightening, and Porthos sighed. "Time doesn't stop, Aramis," he said.

Aramis made no reply, blinking in the darkening night, his vision made sharper by his dilated eyes and the light of the fire.

"How long will this go on?" d'Artagnan asked Athos. "Have you ever seen anyone poisoned by belladonna?"

Athos sighed and shook his head. "No."

Aramis suddenly started to cough, his mouth and throat feeling impossibly dry.

Athos grabbed a canteen and opened it, holding it to Aramis' lips and hoping that he would drink it.

To their relief, Aramis did, coughing a little at first and stopping when he was finished. Suddenly he moaned and closed his eyes.

"What's wrong?" Porthos asked.

"Too much noise," Aramis said. "The wind won't stop talking." Suddenly he reopened them and looked up. "Stop it!"

"Stop what?" d'Artagnan couldn't help but ask.

"The wind's bein' mis...mispif...bein' annoyin'. She won't lemme alone," was the very slurred answer.

 _She?_

No one knew what to say about that, and they watched Aramis as he laid his head against Porthos' chest, squeezing his eyes shut and wincing as his fast breathing suddenly hitched. His heart was racing so hard and fast that Porthos could feel it beating against his own body.

"Aramis?" Porthos said, alarmed.

Aramis moaned, his breathing hitching on every other breath as his body suddenly shuddered. "Hurts."

"What does?" Athos asked.

Aramis didn't answer, continuing to shudder and breathe irregularly.

"He's dying!" Porthos exclaimed in panic.

Athos grabbed Aramis' arm through the blanket. "Aramis, look at me," he said, using his other hand to turn Aramis' head towards him. "Aramis, you've been poisoned with belladonna. Tell us what we need to do for you!"

Aramis blinked at him, unable to understand.

Athos noticed that Aramis' face was covered with a light sheen of sweat. "Lie him down, he isn't really cold." The night was warm, and Porthos' body heat and the blanket were obviously overheating him.

Porthos was reluctant to release his friend, but he obeyed, gently laying Aramis down on the bedroll. They left the blanket off him, and d'Artagnan gently wiped the sweat away with a wet cloth.

Aramis lay there tiredly, his body restless as his heart continued to pound and his lungs fought for adequate air. Suddenly he startled, his eyes widening as he raised a shaking hand and pointed behind the others. "Stay away!" he exclaimed.

Everyone turned to see what he was looking at, but saw nothing.

"There's nothing there!" said Porthos.

But Aramis was seeing a tall, cloaked figure, its face hidden in the hood of black material. It walked towards them slowly—too slowly, its motion unnatural.

"No, you can _not_ have me!" Aramis exclaimed. "I belong to God! The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want."

The others watched nervously, as Aramis quoted Psalm 23 to an imaginary foe.

"He maketh me to lie down...in green pastures…" Aramis paused, fighting to take a deep breath. Suddenly, his eyes rolled and his head drooped.

"Aramis!" Porthos exclaimed, grabbing him by the arms and giving him a shake.

Aramis lifted his head and blinked a few times before continuing. "He restoreth my soul." He paused and lay breathing heavily for a moment, before saying, "He leadeth me...in the path of...righteousness...for His name's sake..."

It was obvious that it was getting harder for him to breathe, but Aramis struggled on.

"Yea...though I walk through...the valley of...the shadow of death..." He paused again, closing his eyes as he fought to breathe. "I will fear no evil...for Thou art with me."

Porthos grabbed the cloth from d'Artagnan and wiped more sweat from Aramis' forehead and face. "Don't talk, Aramis, save your breath."

As if he didn't hear him, Aramis reopened his eyes. "I will fear no evil," he repeated. " _No_ evil! Begone!"

D'Artagnan couldn't stop himself from turning to look behind them, as if he could see the result of Aramis' words to the hallucination that he was fighting.

Aramis' command apparently worked, for after he stared at nothing for a few seconds, he closed his eyes and his body relaxed, though a wince of pain flashed across his face a second later.

Porthos poured water from a canteen over the cloth and patted it over Aramis' face before laying it over his forehead. "Aramis?" he said.

"Shh," said Athos. "Let him quietly rest. If his eyes remain closed, he can't see things that aren't there."

He had a point, but it wasn't easy to watch Aramis lying there trying so hard to get his lungs to keep up with the wild pace of his racing heart.

D'Artagnan wrapped his fingers around their friend's wrist, before letting go in shock at what he felt. "How long can his heart handle that?" he nervously asked.

Athos felt the pulse himself, while Porthos placed a hand on Aramis' chest.

Athos sighed. "Not for very long, I'd imagine."

D'Artagnan looked at him sharply, surprised at his blunt answer.

"Don't say that!" Porthos hissed. "Aramis is gonna be fine. He's gonna be _fine_." His mind told him that no, Aramis was going to die, but he refused to listen.

Aramis moaned again, turning his head towards Porthos. He was gasping, his lungs unable to deal with the stress that the poison was causing to his body. His face was terribly pale, another sheen of sweat already covering his skin.

Porthos wiped the sweat away again. "Hold on, Aramis," he said. "You hear me? You gotta hold on!"

Aramis gave no answer, eyes closed.

Porthos placed a hand on Aramis' forehead in an attempt to comfort him and found heat radiating from his skin. "Belladonna causes fever?" he nervously asked.

Athos sighed. "I believe so. We must keep him cool at all costs; it could mean the difference on whether or not he survives."

Porthos started unbuckling Aramis' weapons belts, and Athos stood to see if there were any canteens on the kidnapper's horses. He came back with three of them and tossed them down with their own, in time to see Aramis start fighting Porthos' actions.

"No...stop," Aramis moaned, struggling as the bigger man got his doublet open and tried to pull it off him.

"I'm tryin' to help ya, Aramis," Porthos said.

Both Athos and d'Artagnan tried to gently hold Aramis down, and with all three of them manhandling him, he suddenly opened his eyes and tried to get away.

"You'll get nothing out of me!" he exclaimed, swinging his right arm and narrowly missing punching Athos in the face.

"Aramis!" Porthos bellowed. "Stop this right now!"

Aramis stilled, as if he'd been hit himself. "Porthos?" he whispered.

Athos and d'Artagnan succeeded in taking hold of him, relieved to finally see some recognition from Aramis.

"That's right," Porthos said, gently pulling one sleeve off their sick friend. "Just keep still, you'll be fine."

"No," Aramis said. He suddenly slumped over Athos' arm, prompting him to grab him before Aramis fell face first to the ground. "It's not you..." Aramis continued. "Porthos is dead. You all are. They killed all three of you."

"That's not true, Aramis!" d'Artagnan said, as Athos held him. "We're all alive, all _three_ of us are here."

"Stop lyin' t'me..." Aramis slurred. "Dead. All dead. Twenty men."

Everyone shared a look when they realized that Aramis' thoughts had dissolved into the Savoy massacre.

"Marsac too. An' now Porthos...Athos...d'Artagnan..." Still leaning against Athos with his forehead against his shoulder, he suddenly made a sound half like a gasp and half like a sob as his body began to shake. "All dead...there's no more reason to live."

Athos looked over Aramis' head at the stricken expressions on Porthos' and d'Artagnan's faces. He pulled Aramis away from his shoulder and tried to catch his gaze. "Aramis, look at me!"

Aramis didn't, head hanging, gasping air as if he were drowning.

"Hold his head up!" he shouted to the others.

Someone grabbed Aramis' head and pulled it up—Athos didn't bother to see who—and he could finally see his eyes.

"Aramis, look at me. Look at me!" Athos exclaimed, squeezing his arms and shaking him.

Aramis' eyes slowly tracked everywhere _but_ at Athos. Tears had leaked from his eyes...Aramis was mourning them while they were _alive_.

"No one is dead, Aramis!" Athos told him.

Still breathing much too fast, Aramis suddenly licked his lips. "Water," he whispered.

Athos lifted one of the canteens and helped him drink. It was difficult for Aramis to swallow while breathing so fast, and he inhaled some of the water and choked.

Porthos lifted his hand to slap him on the back, but Athos threw out an arm to stop him. "No! Not with his heart beating like that!"

Cringing, Porthos pulled his hand away as if he'd been burned, before reaching out to gently rub Aramis' back instead.

Aramis continued to choke, leaning forward with his hands on the ground, head hanging. His arms shook, not strong enough to hold himself up, and his three friends ensured that he didn't fall.

Eventually, the choking stopped, and Aramis suddenly made another sobbing sound, apparently still thinking them dead. "Don't lemme alone," he slurred. "Please!"

With nothing else to do, Athos tightly grabbed Aramis' arms and tried to catch his gaze. "We're alive, Aramis. We're _alive_."

Aramis leaned forward and tiredly laid his head on Athos' shoulder. Athos could feel his heart beating wildly, and he gently ran his hand up and down Aramis' back. "Calm down, Aramis...or you'll be the one leaving _us._ "

Porthos couldn't deal with Athos' words, and he reached over and pulled Aramis from his grasp, holding him tightly in his own arms. "Listen to me, Aramis...we're alive and we can't live without you, so you better calm down right now, you hear me? You're the medic...can't you feel how fast your heart is racin'? Breathe slower, Aramis, breathe slower!"

Aramis was completely limp in his arms, his breathing erratic. Suddenly, his body started to twitch again.

"No no _no_!" Porthos exclaimed, tightening his grip. "Aramis, don't do this to me again!"

Athos and d'Artagnan watched with horror as their friend's body suffered another convulsion. When it ended, he was unconscious.

Porthos was shaking so hard that he couldn't let go of Aramis after he gently laid him back down to the bedroll. D'Artagnan had to pry his hands off their friend in order for Athos to check him.

Aramis lay motionless except for the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. His face was nearly as white as snow and covered again with sweat.

"Athos..." Porthos said, his voice trembling.

Laying a hand on Aramis' chest, Athos sighed. It was obvious from their friend's breathing that he was alive, but his heart was still trying to beat its way out of his chest. Frankly, he was surprised that the seizure hadn't been enough to stop his heart. "There's nothing we can do but wait."

"For him to die?" d'Artagnan couldn't stop himself from saying.

Porthos closed his eyes and lowered his head.

Athos grabbed one of the canteens, opened it, and poured water right over Aramis' body. "We need to keep the fever down," he said. "If he suffers another fit, he likely won't survive it."

"He had the first one _before_ the fever," said d'Artagnan, as he grabbed the other canteens and pulled them closer.

Athos paused; d'Artagnan was right. It could happen again no matter _what_ they did. "We need to keep his fever down either way. His body obviously can't take any more of this."

"We need to get him _home_ ," Porthos told him, looking up.

"He cannot be moved with his heart beating this way," said Athos. "We don't have to be physicians to understand that." He poured water onto a cloth and started wiping Aramis' forehead, face, and neck.

The three of them took turns for the rest of the evening and into the night. Aramis remained unconscious, and no one slept for more than fifteen or twenty minutes at a time.

When it wasn't Porthos' turn, he laid down beside Aramis with his hand over his friend's heart. It was horrifying to feel the frantic, racing beat, but it was the best way for him to know the instant something was wrong... _if_ something went wrong…

TBC


	2. Danger

I'm unexpectedly in the hospital with a kidney stone that's too big to pass on it's own, so if any of you, my dear readers, are Christians, please pray for me! Thanks! :-)

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A few hours after midnight, Aramis suddenly stirred. "Come back," he mumbled, turning his head slightly.

Porthos sat up, instinctively rubbing his hand over his friend's racing heart in an effort to calm him. "Aramis?" he said. "Can you hear me? Stay still."

Aramis moved his head again, making distressed noises. His breathing, which had slowed while he lay unconscious, sped up again.

"No no no," Porthos said, putting a hand on his friend's head. "You calm down, all right? No one's leavin', all three of us are right here."

Athos and d'Artagnan watched as Aramis continued to breathe too fast and shifted slightly on his bedroll. His eyes remained closed.

"It's been so many hours," d'Artagnan suddenly said. "How much longer will this go on?" 'Assuming he lives' went unsaid.

"I've heard of victims suffering the effects of belladonna for days," said Athos.

Both d'Artagnan and Porthos looked at him in shock. "What?!" Porthos exclaimed.

"Not the _full_ effects," said Athos. "But there's every chance that this will keep him down for at least a week."

Aramis squirmed again, moving his right hand, which Porthos tightly clasped.

Athos removed the wet cloth from Aramis' forehead and placed his hand there. "His fever's not too high."

"At least Aramis has _that_ in his favor," d'Artagnan said, taking the cloth and rewetting it. He wiped it over their suffering friend's face before placing it back on his forehead.

After that, Aramis seemed to settle somewhat, but near dawn, he startled awake and tried to sit up.

"Whoa!" Porthos shouted, quickly grabbing him.

"What happened?!" Aramis exclaimed. He sucked in a breath with a gasp, before slumping against Porthos and panting for air.

The other three were surprised and relieved to see him lucid. "You can't move so fast, Aramis!" Porthos told him, wrapping his arms around him to hold him still. "Your heart is going crazy!"

Aramis took some more breaths before trying to move. "Let me go!" he said. "I have to...find them!"

Everyone _else's_ hearts seemed to stop in their chest.

"Find whom?" Athos asked, dreading the answer.

"My...my friends," Aramis gasped, his voice sounding raspy.

"We're all _here,_ Aramis," Porthos said. He pulled him away from his chest so he could look him in the face. "Aramis, can you hear me? Answer yes or no."

Aramis looked at him, but his gaze immediately drifted away. He said nothing, so the answer was obvious.

"Why can't he _see_ us?!" d'Artagnan exclaimed in frustration.

"He's only seeing what the belladonna is making him see," said Athos. He grabbed a canteen and reached over. "Aramis? Drink."

Aramis gave no reaction until the water actually touched his lips. Athos tried to be careful, but the speed in which Aramis was breathing made it impossible _not_ to choke.

Porthos gave a concerned growl and started rubbing Aramis' back. To his shock, Aramis flinched away from him.

"No...wolves...here!" he exclaimed, choking in-between. It would've been comical if not for the reason why.

"I'm your _friend_ , Aramis," Porthos said, sadly. "Can't you understand that?"

Aramis choked again before moving as if to reach out for the canteen again, but he was very uncoordinated.

Athos was surprised that Aramis was lucid enough to do so, though. "Aramis," he said. "What is this?" He held up the canteen.

"Water," Aramis answered.

"And who am I?" Athos continued.

Aramis hesitated, and they all waited for his answer with bated breath.

"Athos' ghost," Aramis whispered, closing his eyes and letting his hand fall back down. Tears leaked from his eyes again.

Porthos growled again, forgetting Aramis' complaint about wolves, and pulled him to his chest. "Can you feel a ghost, Aramis?"

Aramis was quiet for a moment, before saying, "I can if I'm one too."

D'Artagnan reached out and put a hand on Aramis' shoulder, squeezing it gently. "There are no such things as ghosts...if you were in your right mind, you'd remember that. We're all alive and we're all here for you."

"That's right, and you're gonna be fine, Aramis," Porthos said, not even noticing that he'd started to gently rock his friend. "I promise."

Everyone desperately hoped that it was a promise that he could keep.

Aramis was quiet, and they assumed that he'd fallen back to sleep again before he suddenly mumbled something that they couldn't hear.

"What was that?" Porthos asked.

"Wine," Aramis said again.

Porthos and d'Artagnan cracked a slight smile at that.

"You won't be drinking wine for a while, my friend," said Athos. "But we have plenty of water."

Aramis moved slightly, but hadn't the strength to sit up, so Porthos helped him. "Can ya slow down your breathin', Aramis?" Porthos asked, rubbing his back to try to soothe him. "You'll choke again. Look, copy the way I'm breathin', okay?"

Aramis was incapable though...he kept squinting his eyes as if he couldn't see Porthos properly, and his heart was beating too fast for his body to be able to slow down.

Porthos reached out for the canteen and took it from Athos. "Small sips Aramis, all right? Small sips." He held the canteen to his lips and poured tiny amounts at a time, succeeding in getting the water down his throat rather than his windpipe.

The others were relieved, and Porthos was able to get a lot of water into him before Aramis was satisfied.

Porthos handed the canteen back to Athos before looking at Aramis. "Is that better?"

Aramis' eyes were closed and he nodded, before his eyes scrunched tighter in obvious pain.

"Where does it hurt?" Porthos asked.

"My head," Aramis mumbled. "Too much rain."

Everyone blinked at that.

"Rain?" said d'Artagnan.

"When will it stop raining?" Aramis asked. "It hurts."

"The rain that's not falling is hurting him?" d'Artagnan asked.

Athos sighed. "Or he's combining two situations together; a rain hallucination and a headache."

"I don't think it'll remain a hallucination for long," d'Artagnan said, eyeing the black clouds that they hadn't noticed with their attention on Aramis.

As if the sky had waited for d'Artagnan to speak, a downpour suddenly burst from the clouds and he gave an exclamation of surprise at how quickly his prediction had come true.

Porthos pulled Aramis closer, turning his friend's face against his chest and hunching over him in an attempt to keep him dry. "Well _this_ isn't what we needed!" he exclaimed.

Thunder sounded and the wind increased, and both Athos and d'Artagnan leaped to their feet and grabbed one of the blankets, tossing it over Porthos and Aramis before climbing under it and holding it up over all of their heads. They all looked to Aramis, who'd gotten drenched anyway.

Thunder sounded again and the sick musketeer started struggling.

Porthos held him tighter. "Hey, take it easy."

"I won't go with them!" Aramis shouted. "Blow up the canons!"

"Canons?!" d'Artagnan exclaimed.

Porthos knew exactly what he was talking about. "The siege of LaRochelle; Aramis was captured by the enemy and nearly became a prisoner of war. Our side blew their canons and Aramis escaped."

D'Artagnan shook his head. "You three have a lot of stories that I'd like to hear."

"We'll tell them to you over wine at the tavern when Aramis recovers...so he can tell you _his_ ," Porthos answered.

Thunder rumbled again and Aramis flinched. "Porthos!" he exclaimed.

"I'm here, Aramis."

"What's t-taking you...so...long?" Aramis suddenly sounded very breathless.

"We're not in LaRochelle, Aramis," Porthos said. "It's just a storm."

"Can't," Aramis suddenly said, so softly that they nearly didn't hear him over the pouring rain.

"Can't what?"

"Can't...breathe..."

Alarm filled all three of them and Athos grabbed Aramis under the arms and pulled him away from Porthos.

Aramis was gasping, a hand fisted over his heart.

"Aramis!" Porthos exclaimed in terror.

D'Artagnan grabbed Aramis' fist and peeled his fingers open so he could clasp his hand. He held onto it tightly.

Athos could feel Aramis' heartbeat through his body as he held Aramis in his arms and he looked at Porthos with fear in his eyes that neither musketeer had ever seen before.

The sight of a _scared_ Athos brought some sense into Porthos, and he grabbed Aramis' shoulder. "What's going on, Aramis? Talk to me!"

"I...can't...swim..."

"He thinks he's drowning?!" d'Artagnan exclaimed.

"Of course you can swim, Aramis!" Porthos said. "And you can breathe, too! You're not drowning because you aren't _in_ any water!"

Aramis made no reply, still gasping for air.

Thunder rumbled overhead, and Porthos did the only thing he could think of; he pulled back his fist and punched Aramis in the face.

The hallucinating musketeer went limp in Athos' arms.

D'Artagnan couldn't stop himself from covering his mouth with one hand in shock; he understood why Porthos had done it, but he couldn't believe that it had actually come to that.

"I had to," Porthos said, mournfully. "He was gonna suffocate 'imself."

"We know," Athos replied, sighing as he held onto their unconscious friend.

Eventually, the storm ended, and they laid him down on the only dry bedroll. For the rest of the night, they watched Aramis 'sleep', and he still hadn't regained consciousness even long after dawn had risen.

The one good thing was that his heartbeat was finally slowing down, to their relief and slight shock. All three of them had doubted Aramis' survival...and they all knew that he still wasn't out of the woods.

"What should we do?" d'Artagnan asked. "Do you think his heart can handle riding yet?"

Athos and Porthos looked at each other, unsure.

"Maybe we should leave before he wakes up," d'Artagnan said. "If he stays unconscious until we can get him home..."

He had a point, and the others wished that they hadn't sat there all those hours waiting.

Athos nodded. "Let's go, quickly."

Everyone jumped up and quickly dismantled the campsite before tying the three extra horses to their own.

"I hope he doesn't wake when we move him," Porthos said, as he knelt beside their friend and prepared to lift him.

The others agreed; the _last_ thing they needed was for Aramis to panic in a confused state.

Porthos gently slid his arms under him and lifted Aramis carefully, before handing him to Athos and d'Artagnan and quickly mounting.

They handed Aramis up and helped Porthos settle him sideways against his chest, where Aramis remained out cold.

The others wasted no time in mounting their own steeds and kicking them into a walk. The slow speed seemed ridiculous, but they didn't know how much Aramis' heart could handle.

"How's his pulse?" Athos asked a few minutes later.

Porthos had one arm wrapped around Aramis to anchor him on the horse, with his hand grasping their friend's wrist. He could feel the beat through his skin without needing to place his fingers over the pulse point. "No worse."

The others were relieved to hear that.

"Maybe we can pick up the pace later?" d'Artagnan asked.

"Perhaps," said Athos.

An hour passed agonizingly slow before they grew confident to attempt riding faster. Aramis' pulse had remained about the same; still too fast and hard, but nothing like the frantic racing of the previous night.

Aramis remained unconscious.

Porthos flinched as they moved from a slow walk into a trot, gripping Aramis' wrist hard as he held his breath in fear of how his heart would react.

The others watched him, worried themselves.

Porthos shook his head. "No real change."

"It's because he's unconscious," Athos said. "If he was awake, it would likely be different."

Near noon, Aramis' still-unconscious state was worrying them, and they began to wish that he _would_ wake, despite his heart. Was this the unconsciousness that preceded death?

A sudden groan quickly got Porthos' attention, and he stopped his horse. The other two halted too and anxiously watched.

Porthos dropped the reins and held a finger to his lips to tell the others to remain quiet, not knowing the state of Aramis' mind and not wanting him to be startled. "Aramis?" he whispered.

A shuddering breath was the only reply he got.

Porthos gently rubbed his friend's back. "Aramis, are you with me?"

Their poisoned friend made no reaction or movement.

Athos ducked his head to look into Aramis' face. He found his eyes closed, and shook his head at the others. It was obvious that Aramis was awake though; they could hear his faster breathing, though they were relieved to see that he was no longer gasping for air.

"Hey, Aramis," said Porthos. "You're on my horse, and Athos and d'Artagnan are here too. We're takin' you home...I'm just gonna get this horse movin' again, all right?"

No answer.

The others exchanged concerned looks, but started their horses slowly walking again.

Porthos kept the tight grip on their friend in case he panicked, but Aramis didn't. He simply rested against Porthos, his breathing still indicating that he was awake...or partly, at least.

It was four or five minutes later when Aramis suddenly groaned again very softly and tried to move his head.

"I gotcha, Aramis," Porthos told him. "You're safe."

It was another minute before Aramis whispered, "What?"

Porthos stopped his horse again. "Hey there! You with us now?"

But Aramis repeated, "What?"

Athos and d'Artagnan could see that his eyes were finally open, and he was blinking, looking bewildered.

"We're on our way back to the garrison, Aramis," Athos told him.

"What?" Aramis repeated, sounding nervous.

"You don't think he's gone deaf?!" d'Artagnan asked.

Athos shook his head. "He's responding to our voices. I think he's just confused...dazed."

Porthos rubbed Aramis' back again. "You're gonna be fine," he said. "I promise."

Aramis gave no reply, but he closed his eyes again, calmed by Porthos' soothing tone and touch.

He remained quiet as they continued on, until finally saying something that made sense ten minutes later.

"Water?"

Porthos was slightly startled at the sudden request. He stopped the horse and grabbed a waterskin, gently reclining Aramis back in his arm as he held it to his lips.

Aramis drank slowly, nearly half-emptying the waterskin before he was satisfied.

"That better?" Porthos asked.

Aramis tried to answer, but frowned, as if unsure of the right word.

"That's all right," said Porthos. "Just rest."

Aramis closed his eyes and did just that.

"How is he?" Athos asked.

"Holdin' on," Porthos said. "His pulse is a little faster but not too much." He put his hand on Aramis' forehead. "Fever the same."

"You think we've seen the worst of the effects?" d'Artagnan asked Athos.

Athos sighed. "I hope so."

The day grew overcast quickly after that, and it looked like it might rain again. Porthos was going to mention it to the others, but Aramis suddenly spoke.

"Where?"

Porthos looked down at him, to see that his eyes were open again. "We're ridin' home, Aramis," he told him.

Aramis gave no answer, but Porthos suddenly noticed that he was shaking. "Hey now, what's the matter?" he asked, trying to see his face.

Aramis said nothing else as he drowsily stared at nothing.

Athos and d'Artagnan, able to see his face better, saw nothing amiss with him and shook their heads at Porthos.

"You're safe, Aramis," Porthos said, though he suddenly remembered that Aramis didn't know who they were the previous night. "Do you know who I am?"

It took a few seconds, but Aramis eventually answered, "No."

"What?" d'Artagnan couldn't stop himself from exclaiming.

"Let me...go?" Aramis said, as if unsure of his words. He contradicted himself by not even trying to get free.

Porthos loosened his hold a little, to hopefully prevent Aramis from panicking. He was still gripping one of his wrists and could feel his heartbeat increasing. "Aramis, do you remember your old friend Porthos?" he asked.

Aramis blinked drowsily. "Yes."

"What would you say if I told you that I'm him?"

Aramis closed his eyes, seeming unable to keep them open. "No."

"I'm not him? Why are you so sure?" Porthos asked.

Aramis reopened his eyes but didn't answer.

"Don't I sound like him, Aramis?" Porthos asked.

"Yes."

"So is there a chance that I could be him then?"

"No."

Porthos sighed and glanced at the others in frustration. "Why not?"

"Dead." The shaking increased.

"Aramis..." d'Artagnan softly said, with sympathy.

"What if you're wrong about that?" Porthos asked.

"Wrong?" Aramis repeated.

Porthos shifted Aramis back in his arm again so he could see his face. "Look at me, Aramis. Look at me and tell me that I'm dead."

Aramis stared, his eyes glassy and his pupils still too large. He squinted as if the daylight was too bright, before clarity suddenly entered his eyes. "Porthos?" he whispered.

Porthos smiled. "That's right, it's me! All three of us are alive, Aramis...you were poisoned with belladonna and it's affecting your mind."

That seemed to be more information than Aramis could handle, and he closed his eyes.

Porthos shifted him to recline against his chest again. "Just keep tellin' yourself that, Aramis...we're alive, we're alive."

"Alive," Aramis whispered.

"Good," said Porthos. "Who am I, Aramis?"

"Porthos."

"Good." He looked at the others. "Do you see Athos and d'Artagnan riding beside you?"

Aramis opened his eyes. "Yes," he said.

Relieved, d'Artagnan reached over and squeezed Aramis' arm. "You're gonna be fine, Aramis, we'll have you home soon."

Aramis didn't react, but he was still shaking. "Athos?" he suddenly said.

Porthos stopped his horse, and the others followed.

"I'm here, Aramis," Athos said, reaching out to grasp his shoulder.

"Something's...not right," Aramis told him.

Athos nodded. "You're ill, Aramis, poisoned by belladonna."

Aramis sluggishly blinked. His face looked flushed and Athos felt his forehead.

"That's...not...it," Aramis slowly said, closing his eyes at the feel of his friend's hand.

Athos was glad to find no dramatic change in his temperature. "What is it, then?"

Aramis suddenly looked past them.

D'Artagnan turned to look behind himself, seeing nothing that could be upsetting their friend.

"Aramis?" Athos prodded.

"Don't know," Aramis answered, sounding confused. "Danger." He continued to shake.

Porthos rubbed his back. "Just rest."

Aramis took a shuddering breath.

D'Artagnan frowned. "Do you think we should stop for a while?" he asked Athos.

Athos sighed. On one hand, it might help to calm Aramis down, but on the other hand, if he became gripped in another hallucination...

"Down," Aramis suddenly said.

Porthos looked at Athos.

Athos nodded and dismounted before cautiously reaching up to place a hand on his arm.

"Athos is gonna help you get down, Aramis, okay?" said Porthos.

Aramis seemed to shrink closer to him for a moment, though he didn't protest the hand on his arm. "Athos?" he said.

"Yes, Aramis," Athos said. "I'll help you. D'Artagnan too, if that's all right."

Aramis blinked. "D'Artagnan?"

"Yes," said the youngest musketeer. "We won't let you fall."

Aramis blinked at them for a moment, before simply saying, "Yes."

Athos and d'Artagnan tightly gripped Aramis' arms and carefully slid him down.

Aramis was weak and had no balance, so his knees immediately buckled and he tipped into Athos with a gasp.

The older musketeer took most of his weight with d'Artagnan holding him on the other side, and they gently lowered him to sit on the ground.

The landscape was spinning around Aramis and everything turned into strange colors. It was so disorienting that Aramis couldn't sit upright. Closing his eyes, he tipped against Athos again with a sound of distress.

Athos wrapped his arm around him to keep him steady. "I have you, Aramis, I have you," he said.

Porthos reached them by then and knelt, gripping Aramis' shoulder with one hand and his wrist with the other. His heartbeat had increased, as they feared.

"Here," d'Artagnan suddenly said, holding out a waterskin.

Porthos took it and held it to their friend's lips. "Drink this, Aramis."

Aramis didn't move, still shaking and breathing heavily with his eyes closed.

"Wait," Athos told Porthos.

With a sigh, Porthos put the waterskin down and they watched as Aramis tried to deal with the vertigo. It was a few minutes before his breathing and heartbeat started to calm down.

"Better?" Porthos eventually asked.

Aramis reopened his eyes and nodded slightly.

"Are you hungry?" d'Artagnan asked.

Aramis frowned, as if that was a question that he didn't understand.

"We have some dried meat and bread, and some apples," d'Artagnan continued.

Aramis still looked confused, not raising his head from Athos' shoulder.

D'Artagnan stood and fetched their sack of food, sitting on the ground and opening it. He showed Aramis what he had, and waited for a reaction.

Aramis just stared.

Porthos picked up a piece of meat and held it in front of Aramis' face.

It took a few seconds for Aramis to focus on it, making them realize that the belladonna was affecting his vision.

Aramis stared nearly cross-eyed at the blurred piece of meat before shaking his head.

Porthos tried the bread next.

Aramis accepted that, trying to raise a hand to take it, but it weakly fell back down and he made a sound of shock, as if he couldn't believe that he was unable to feed himself.

"It's all right, Aramis," Porthos said. "It's all right...here." He tried to feed it to him, but Aramis laboriously lifted his head off Athos' shoulder.

"No," Aramis said. He reached out for it again.

Each of them were glad to see that he still had pride enough to want to feed himself, but it was distressing to watch his struggle.

Aramis managed to eat three bites before his arm fell back down and he lowered his head to Athos' shoulder again.

"Tired," he whispered.

Athos pointed to the waterskin and Porthos picked it up. "Have some water Aramis," he said.

Porthos held it to his lips and Aramis drank. Once he was satisfied, he said, "Tired," again.

"But we have to get you home," d'Artagnan told him. "Where you can sleep in a bed."

Aramis said nothing for a moment, before something happened that startled the others nearly to death; Aramis suddenly shot his head up from Athos' shoulder and exclaimed, "Give me a pistol!"

"Whoa!" Porthos shouted, grabbing his arms.

Aramis looked around, eyes opened wide. "Don't you hear them?!"

"Hear what?" Athos asked, holding onto him tightly.

"The wolves!"

D'Artagnan stood and looked around, seeing nothing.

"There's no wolves, Aramis!" Porthos told him.

"I can see them!" Aramis said, squirming to get free.

D'Artagnan looked around again, and suddenly spotted the glint of sunlight off metal. "Get down!" he exclaimed.

A second later, multiple shots were fired. Porthos dove into Aramis and Athos, knocking them to the ground and protecting them with his own body.

Athos' breath was knocked from his lungs by both of them landing on him, and Aramis immediately began to struggle, thinking that wolves had attacked them.

Porthos leaped up. "Protect Aramis!" he said to Athos, pulling out his sword as five men came out of the woods.

D'Artagnan immediately engaged one of them, while one went for Porthos and the other three all headed for Athos and Aramis...correctly identifying the weak link.

Athos had both arms wrapped around Aramis and was trying to pull him up to hide, but Aramis was fighting him, still hallucinating wolves. "Aramis, _stop_!" he exclaimed. Eventually, he had to let go with one hand to shoot at the men heading for them, but Aramis was keeping him off-balance and his shot missed.

The three men reached them and pulled Athos away, with one of them engaging him in swordplay while the other two grabbed Aramis to rob him.

Aramis, still seeing wolves in his mind, fought them as best he could, until one of them pulled out a second pistol and fired it.

Aramis collapsed back to the ground and the men roughly went through his jacket. One of them found his money and grabbed it, with a laugh.

The sound of the 'growl' brought Aramis aware enough to kick the 'wolf', but before the man could retaliate, a sword suddenly skewered him from behind, spraying Aramis with blood as the man fell.

"Aramis!" Porthos exclaimed, as all three of them dropped to their knees.

Breathing heavily, Aramis looked around himself to see five wolves lying dead. Lowering his head down to the ground, he fought to catch his breath as his heart pounded wildly. When a pair of hands wrapped themselves around his arm, his eyes popped open.

"It's just me," said Athos. "You're bleeding."

"One of them...bit me," Aramis told him.

D'Artagnan and Porthos looked at each other, surprised and a little amazed that Aramis could see five grown men as being wolves.

"It's just a graze," Athos said, with relief.

Aramis closed his eyes and gave no reply.

Minutes later, Athos was preparing to stitch his arm, but he wasn't sure how Aramis was going to react to it. "Aramis," he suddenly asked. "How many wolves do you see?"

Aramis, who was still lying flat with Porthos' cloak under his head, glanced up. "Five."

Athos had been hoping for him to say that he saw _men_ , not wolves, and all three of them sighed. "Your wound requires needlework," said Athos. "Do you understand?"

Aramis nodded slightly, eyes closed again. "Yes."

The other three shot each other wary looks, hoping that he was being truthful.

"It's going to hurt," Athos told him. "Porthos will hold you down and d'Artagnan will keep your arm still, all right?"

"All right," Aramis echoed. His voice was slurred as if he was falling asleep.

Athos hoped that he wasn't passing out…though on one hand, it would make it easier to stitch him, especially while Aramis wasn't in his right mind. He looked at the other two, who slowly took hold of Aramis as if afraid that he would suddenly go insane at their touch.

Aramis gave no reaction, turning his head slightly towards Porthos.

All three of them watched him for a moment, taking in his pale face, closed eyes, and rapid breathing. Athos looked at them next and waited for them both to nod before he began.

D'Artagnan felt the muscles in Aramis' arm tense up at the touch of the needle, and he leaned more weight on his hands as he held it down.

"You're fine," Porthos said, gripping their friend's shoulders. "Just don't move, Aramis, all right?"

Aramis gave no answer, opening his eyes and turning his head to watch. They could see the pain in his face, but to their surprise, he obeyed.

Athos didn't let himself look at him, keeping himself focused on his task so he could complete it as quickly as possible.

"They finally came," Aramis suddenly whispered.

"Who did?" d'Artagnan asked, figuring that keeping him talking would distract him.

"The crows," Aramis answered.

A shiver shot down each of their spines at the implications of that statement, and even Athos hesitated.

"They are no crows here," Porthos said.

"There are dozens," Aramis told him, his voice sounding far away. "Here to eat the bodies. I tried to shoo them away, but even _more_ came."

"Aramis—" said Porthos.

"I can _see_ them!" Aramis said, agitated. "I can _feel_ them. They finally came for _me_."

Athos froze when he suddenly realized that Aramis was talking about _him_...the hallucinating musketeer was imagining that the pain from the needle was a crow pecking at his body, and it had sent his mind back to the horrors of Savoy.

D'Artagnan shot Athos a look of shock, and Athos had to take a slow deep breath before he could force himself to continue stitching.

Porthos tightened his grip. "We'll shoo them away for you, Aramis. In a minute, they'll be gone."

Aramis said nothing else, and finally, Athos finished, practically tossing the needle away before wrapping the wound with a bandage.

"See that, Aramis?" Porthos said, squeezing his shoulder. "The crows are gone."

"Except for the one on your head."

Everyone looked at Aramis, each of them wondering if he was joking and had come back to his senses.

"Why are they attacking _you_?" Aramis asked, his voice shaking. "You weren't in Savoy."

Porthos lifted a hand and pretended to whack the crow off himself. "Stupid bird! There, it's gone."

Aramis closed his eyes and heaved a great sigh of relief. "Thank you." He suddenly looked at Athos. "Can we go home now, Athos?"

Athos finished with the bandage and looked at him, surprised and glad to see recognition. "Of course we can, my friend. Can you stand?"

"I don't know," Aramis admitted.

Porthos and d'Artagnan helped him, pulling him carefully to his feet and holding him tightly when his knees wouldn't lock. His body started shaking again, and Aramis frowned.

"What's wrong with me?" he mumbled, his breathing coming faster as the exertion sped up his heartbeat again.

"You've been poisoned with belladonna," Athos told him, putting a hand on the back of his neck and looking into his eyes. "But we're on our way home and you'll be fine. Do you understand?"

Aramis blinked at him, nodding his head but then shaking it, his eyebrows furrowing with confusion.

Athos squeezed the back of his neck, hoping that Aramis wasn't about to lose his senses again. "Just remain calm and don't worry. You can trust us; remember?"

Aramis looked at him, his eyes looking slightly glazed now. He felt the familiar grip of his friends and nodded.

Athos gave him a little smile. "Good. Just keep remembering that." He let go of Aramis and pulled his own horse over to give Porthos' a break. They helped Aramis mount and Athos swung up behind him before they were finally in motion again.

TBC


	3. Home

Hey everyone! The hospital let me leave last Saturday afternoon after being there since before dawn. They thought I had a kidney infection as well as a kidney stone because my white blood count was 20, (it should be 4-11). My count went down to 16.9 a few hours after I arrived, so they assumed that the count being so high was my body's reaction to the agonizing pain. As of today, the count is 9, which is normal, confirming that there is no infection! I still have the stone though, which is being stubborn, and have an ultrasound scheduled for next Friday. Keep praying for me that I pass the stone, so I can avoid surgery! Thanks! :-)

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Aramis was silent, not resisting the arm around his stomach that anchored him to the horse. "Athos?" he eventually said.

"Yes?"

Aramis was quiet for a moment, as if he'd forgotten what he was going to say. "What happened?"

Athos inwardly sighed, though he was glad that Aramis finally knew who they were. "You were poisoned."

Aramis gave no reply at first, eyes closed with his head resting back on Athos' shoulder. Finally, he said, "By the cardinal."

Athos nearly stopped his horse, surprised by those words. "No, why would you think that?"

"Because of Adele," Aramis replied. "But she was mine first."

Athos sighed. "I know."

"She _was_ ," Aramis continued, opening his eyes and suddenly trying to sit up. "She was my woman! The cardinal stole her from me!"

Porthos and d'Artagnan watched with alarm.

"Calm down," Athos told him, tightening the grip around his friend. "We know, Aramis, you were with Adele for months before the cardinal spotted her."

"He had no right!" Aramis said. "And now she's gone. She chose him over me and didn't even say goodbye. How could she do that, Athos? I'm the handsome one... _he_ looks like a bird!" Suddenly, he laughed. "And he's a 'cardinal'!"

Everyone else smiled at the jest, glad at least that Aramis wasn't upset anymore.

Aramis quickly stopped laughing with a groan, closing his eyes and holding a hand to his head.

"Be still," Athos told him. "Just rest."

Aramis gave no answer to that, saying instead, "Are we stopping?"

Athos frowned. "Not unless you need to."

Aramis fought to sit up again, and Athos let him without letting go. The look of shock that Aramis sent him over his shoulder had Athos frown again.

"You mean we're just going to ride right by?" Aramis asked.

Everyone looked ahead, seeing nothing but trees, grass, and the sunny sky.

"Ride by what?" Porthos asked.

Aramis looked at him, and nearly tipped sideways off the horse. Athos let go of the reins and grabbed him with both hands.

"That castle!" Aramis exclaimed, gesturing to a large oak tree. He started to shiver. "Why ride in the snow when we can go inside to get warm?!"

"Aramis," said Athos. "Listen to me; you have been poisoned with belladonna and are seeing things that are not truly there."

"I am?"

"Yes...there's no castle, and it's not snowing."

Aramis frowned, before silently holding up a shaking hand. A few seconds later, he looked at the palm of his glove before shifting it so everyone else could see. "So these aren't snowflakes?" he challenged.

There was, of course, nothing there.

"No, Aramis," said d'Artagnan. "We're sorry."

Aramis looked at him and Porthos, before glancing at Athos over his shoulder again and jumping like someone startled out of his skin. He dove off the horse so fast that no one had time to stop him.

"Whoa!" Porthos yelled, in shock.

Aramis was uncoordinated, weak, and off-balance, and stumbled back a step before falling onto his rear. He gave a gasp of pain and closed his eyes, raising a hand to his head before changing his mind and holding the stitched wound on his arm instead. He eyes snapped open when he heard the others dismount, and he pointed a shaking finger at them. "Stay away!" he exclaimed.

Everyone stopped, watching with concern as Aramis winced and closed his eyes again.

Porthos instantly crouched and held out his hands in a placating gesture. "Take it easy, Aramis...we're your friends."

"Then why would you lie to me?" Aramis replied, his voice full of pain. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter and lowered his throbbing head.

"I didn't lie," Athos told him. "Open your eyes, Aramis...where is the castle?"

It took a few seconds, but Aramis did, before pointing.

"Then lead us to it," said Athos.

Aramis looked at him with surprise, before glancing at the others. He seemed wary, as if unsure that he could trust them.

"Remember what I said before, Aramis?" Porthos said. "Hear my voice? Who am I?"

"Porthos," said Aramis.

Porthos grinned and nodded. "That's right. Now let's go...show us the castle." He held out his hand, and they all waited.

Aramis looked at each one of them again before letting go of his wounded arm and stretching out his own hand. It was still shaking.

Porthos slowly stood and walked over to him, taking his hand and pulling him to his feet with Athos on the other side.

Aramis stood unsteadily in their grip, his eyes repeatedly blinking. "I'm so tired," he whispered.

Porthos tightened his grip. "Once we get home, you can sleep for a week if you want to."

Aramis nodded, before starting to shakily walk.

"Wouldn't you rather ride?" d'Artagnan asked, not really knowing exactly where their hallucinating friend was heading.

Aramis said nothing, before reaching the oak tree and touching it. He blinked and continued to run his hand along it, as the others watched with confusion.

Aramis' hand moved off the tree, and he fumbled to find it again, as if he couldn't see it. "This isn't a castle," he said.

D'Artagnan opened his mouth to say 'that's what we tried to tell you', but Athos shook his head at him.

Aramis continued to touch the tree, before blinking and stepping back. He took a few stumbling steps over to the right, with Porthos grabbing his arm to assist him.

"This is the door," Aramis said, sternly. He reached out for it, but his hand met empty air. With a cry of dismay, he stumbled back again and dropped, with Porthos gently lowering him to the ground.

Athos and d'Artagnan headed over, kneeling beside their friend.

Aramis made a fist and pounded it on the ground. "I'm sitting in snow!"

Athos put a hand on his shoulder. "No you aren't, Aramis...just as there is no castle here."

Aramis lowered his head into his hand. "How can I not trust what I see?" he moaned.

"Trust _us_ instead," Porthos told him. " _We'll_ be your eyes."

Aramis sat there, breathing too fast and shivering, before lowering his hand again into the 'snow' and picking some of it up. "It feels cold. I'm _freezing_."

Athos put a hand on Aramis' forehead and felt the heat radiating from it. "Belladonna raises the body temperature, Aramis...perhaps that's why you're cold and imagining snow."

Aramis picked up more of the 'snow' and held it closer to his face. "It looks so real."

"We're sorry, Aramis," d'Artagnan said again.

Aramis sighed and turned his hand over, watching as the snow dropped to the whitened ground.

As the others watched their friend's bizarre actions, they were sure that they would never forget this day.

Aramis plopped his hand into his lap and closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling noisily. It was alarming to see him still breathing too fast, and Athos and Porthos both reached for the wrist on Aramis' uninjured arm to check his pulse.

Porthos pulled his hand back and he and d'Artagnan watched.

Athos was glad to find that Aramis' heart wasn't still trying to beat its way out of their friend's body, but it was faster than earlier, due to Aramis' anxious state. "Try to be calm, my friend. You'll feel less ill," he said.

Aramis reopened his eyes halfway. "Can I sleep?"

"If you can do it on Porthos' horse," Athos told him. "We need to get you home so you can properly rest."

Aramis nodded and they pulled him to his feet where he stood unsteadily, shivering from head to foot. They got him sideways on the horse in front of Porthos and draped a blanket around him before finally riding off again.

Aramis quietly slept for the rest of the journey, and when the musketeers rode into the garrison, each one of them could've fainted from relief.

Treville was on his balcony and dashed down the stairs when he saw them riding in. "What happened?!" he asked.

"He's been poisoned with belladonna," Athos told him as he dismounted.

That was the _last_ thing that Treville ever expected to hear. "Get him to his room, I'll send for a doctor!"

"It's likely too late for that," Athos continued as he and d'Artagnan reached up to pull Aramis down. "It's been nearly a full day since it happened."

Treville sent for one anyway, and he shook his head with shock at Aramis' appearance; his skin was very pale and his breathing was abnormal. It wasn't encouraging that Aramis didn't wake when they pulled him down from the horse and brought him inside.

Within minutes, Aramis was in bed with a wet cloth over his forehead, and the other three told Treville what had happened.

Treville was stunned when he heard about the delusions that the poison had caused. "That's...horrifying," was all he could say.

"It took a long time for him to finally understand who we are," d'Artagnan told him.

Treville sighed and sat down, worried over whether or not Aramis would survive. He reached for Aramis' wrist and felt his pulse, his own heartbeat quickening when he felt the too fast and irregular beat.

The doctor came and told them that Athos was correct; it was too late for him to be able to do anything. "He'll either survive or he won't," the doctor said. "I'm sorry."

The others were terrified at his words.

"I will say that the fact he's still alive now is a good sign," said the doctor. "All you can do is keep him as calm and still as you can. Make sure he doesn't hurt himself...or anyone else."

"Aramis would never hurt anyone!" Porthos exclaimed.

"Forgive me," said the doctor. "I simply mean that he might not know what he's doing if he should fall into another delusion."

"We understand, doctor," Treville said. He walked the man to the door and they left together.

Porthos hrumphed and sat on the side of the bed, looking down at their friend.

Aramis was motionless, face much too pale and his breathing still an effort.

Treville came back in and said nothing to Porthos about his outburst, understanding how he felt. He stood beside the bed and sighed.

Aramis was unconscious for another hour before he suddenly started moving slightly, rolling his head to the left, where Treville was sitting in a chair.

Treville stood and sat on the bed before any of the others had a chance, putting a hand on Aramis' arm and hoping that he could soothe him before he could grow agitated. "Aramis?" he whispered.

Aramis made a soft sound of distress, eyes still closed.

Treville squeezed his arm. "Aramis? You're safe."

It took a few more seconds before Aramis half-opened bleary eyes. He stared blinking as Treville rewet the cloth.

"How are you feeling?" Treville asked, patting the cloth over Aramis' face before laying it over his forehead.

Aramis just stared, seeming unable to speak. Suddenly, and to Treville's utter shock, Aramis' eyes filled with tears.

"I'm sorry," Aramis said, his voice full of regret.

Treville's eyebrows shot up. "For what?"

"I wasn't supposed to go," Aramis told him, closing his eyes. The motion made the tears escape.

"Go where, Aramis?" Treville said, taking out his handkerchief to wipe them away.

"You told me to stay where I was and I didn't listen," Aramis continued, breathing too fast. "It's my fault, papa, I'm sorry!"

The other three musketeers glanced at each other before staring at their captain.

Treville was shocked, and laid a hand on Aramis' head, smoothing back his hair. He opened his mouth to tell him that he wasn't his father, but changed his mind when he wondered if that would make the situation worse. "It's all right; you have nothing to apologize for."

"But it's my fault!" Aramis told him, sluggishly raising his right arm and placing his hand over his eyes.

It was obvious that Aramis was reliving some childhood incident, and Treville was at a loss of what to do. He smoothed back Aramis' hair again as he tried to figure out what to say. "Nothing is your fault; things are not as they seem, Aramis. You've done very well and I'm proud of you."

It took a few seconds for those words to sink in, and Aramis moved his hand away from his eyes. "You are?"

Treville smiled. "Yes; you're honorable, clever, compassionate…any man would be proud to have you for a son."

Aramis smiled back before his eyes blinked themselves closed. He lay quietly, still awake, as they could tell from his breathing.

Treville stood and walked away from the bed, putting a hand over his mouth as he digested what had just occurred. It was very unsettling to see Aramis not only unable to recognize him, but to think him someone else.

"You should take that as a compliment," Athos' voice suddenly said.

Treville turned to find him standing behind him.

"Aramis thought that we were his enemies, and that we'd killed his friends," Athos went on. "He kept telling Porthos that he was not Porthos."

Treville shook his head, wondering how they'd dealt with it. He went back to the bed and looked down at the sick musketeer, feeling touched that Aramis had thought him to be his father. He looked at Athos and Porthos, who were watching Aramis sadly. "Why don't the three of you go clean up and get something to eat," he said. "I won't leave his side."

Porthos' stomach growled at the thought of food. All three of them were ready to refuse though, not wanting to leave their friend, but Athos suddenly took Porthos and d'Artagnan by an arm and pulled them towards the door.

Treville gave a heavy sigh once they were gone, and he looked at Aramis, whose eyes were closed as he lay still, though his breathing was still too fast. "I remember the day that you first came to the garrison," he suddenly said. "I hadn't even chosen anyone yet to join the musketeers, and you walked right in and became the very first one." He smiled. "At first I thought you were too young and inexperienced, but I quickly found out just how exceptionally skilled you were in swordsmanship and shooting; I could scarcely believe the shots you made if I hadn't seen them with my own eyes." He chuckled. "I remember thinking at first that you were over-eager and it would likely wear off as time passed, but no, you were always there when something needed to be done and you always completed your missions successfully...and many times nearly at the cost of your life." He stopped as he thought of all the serious wounds and injuries that Aramis had obtained through the years. "I always said that you would be the one to turn my hair gray."

"I can...see them."

Treville blinked at the soft, weak voice that he hadn't expected to hear. "Aramis?"

Chocolate brown eyes opened slightly, and Aramis smiled slightly. "Knew the grays were...my fault."

Treville smiled and reached over to squeeze his shoulder, overjoyed to see Aramis coherent. "How do you feel?"

Aramis weakly blinked. "Like Porthos...fell on me."

Treville squeezed his shoulder again. "Just rest. I don't know how much you remember, but you were poisoned with belladonna berries. How many did they give you?"

Aramis blinked for a few seconds before saying, "Don't know."

Treville nodded with a sigh. "All right, just rest. The others will be right back."

Aramis closed his eyes again. "I miss them...they've been gone for so long."

Treville frowned. "No, Aramis, they only left a few minutes ago on my orders."

"Are you sure?" Aramis suddenly shivered. "I'm cold."

Treville nodded, even though Aramis couldn't see it with his eyes closed. "Yes," he replied, pulling the blanket up to Aramis' chin.

"All right," Aramis whispered as sleep pulled at him.

Less than ten minutes later, Athos, Porthos, and d'Artagnan came back inside, having washed up and shed their doublets. Porthos had a mug in his hand and d'Artagnan carried a small pot, which he brought towards the fire.

"I thought I told you to eat," Treville whispered.

"We did," said Porthos. "And Serge gave us some soup for Aramis," he said, gesturing over his shoulder at d'Artagnan.

Treville inwardly sighed, knowing that they'd probably shoved the first thing they'd found down their throats, grabbed the soup, and hurried back. He couldn't blame them though...with the stories they'd told him of Aramis' irrational behavior, they must've been terrified. "He woke a short time ago and was lucid for a moment."

The others looked at him with shock.

Treville nodded. "I'd just said to him that he was giving me gray hairs, and he suddenly answered that he could see them." He smiled.

"Is that all he said?" Porthos asked, sitting on the side of the bed and putting the mug on the nightstand.

"I asked how he felt..."

"And what was his answer?" asked Athos.

"He said 'as if Porthos fell on me'."

All three of them smiled for a second at their friend's humor before sobering, wishing that Aramis wasn't so ill.

"He also told me that he's cold," Treville said. "That will do wonders for him," he said, gesturing to the cup.

Porthos reached over and gently put a hand on the side of their friend's face. "Aramis?" he whispered. "We have some broth for you."

Aramis gave no reaction.

"Aramis," Porthos repeated. "Hey, I have something that'll warm you up."

A soft noise was the response that time, and Aramis' eyebrows furrowed a little.

"Come on," Porthos said. "You can go back to sleep after you drink this. It's nice and hot."

The word 'hot' got through to Aramis, and he opened his eyes slightly. "What's it?" he slurred.

"Serge's special broth, your favorite," Porthos said.

Athos went to the other side of the bed and gently pulled Aramis upright a little as Porthos held the cup, and they slowly fed it to him, suddenly realizing that Aramis' breathing wasn't wild and gasping as it had been. It was still too fast, but no longer to the point of choking him when he drank.

Some color came back to Aramis' face, and he made a sound of pleasure as the wonderful heat spread through his chest and stomach. When he finished, he made everyone happy by saying, "More?"

"Broth, or can you eat actual soup?" Porthos asked.

Aramis frowned, as if he didn't understand the difference.

D'Artagnan took the cup over to the fire, filling it with soup and bringing it and a spoon back. "Aramis," he said. "Do you know who we are?"

"Yes," Aramis answered.

"Do you know _where_ you are?" Porthos asked, taking the cup and spoon.

"Yes," Aramis repeated.

Everyone glanced at each other for a second.

"And that is...?" said Treville.

"Right here."

On an ordinary day, that answer would've either gotten a laugh or rolled eyes in response, but not that day.

"And where is 'right here'?" asked Porthos, dipping the spoon into the cup and bringing it to Aramis' lips.

"Italy," said Aramis, eating the soup off the spoon without protest.

Porthos almost dropped the cup. He opened his mouth to react, but stopped when Treville held out a hand to stop him.

"Why are we in Italy, Aramis?" Treville asked.

"The cardinal's robes are too big," Aramis said, eating another spoonful. "He sent us here to bring back the pope's tailor."

Porthos had to hold his breath and bite his lip to avoid an outward reaction.

Athos remained impassive, d'Artagnan had to cover his mouth with one hand, and Treville wasn't sure _what_ to say. "How is the soup?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Delicious," said Aramis. "The pope's cook must've gotten the recipe from Serge."

A strangled sound emitted from Porthos, and he covered it up by clearing his throat. "Feeling better?" he asked, before Aramis could say anything else that would make him lose control and laugh.

Aramis swallowed before nodding.

Porthos fed him the whole cup of soup, and they laid Aramis flat again so he could go back to sleep.

After they were sure he was out, Porthos looked at the others. "The pope's tailor! Serge's recipe!" he whispered. "I almost died when he said that!"

Treville shook his head, d'Artagnan grinned, and even Athos cracked a slight smile. "That was quite unexpected."

"I can't wait until he's back in his right mind so we can tell him what he said!" Porthos told them.

Everyone thought about that statement for a moment, with all of them all just wishing that Aramis _would_ come back to his right mind.

The night passed slowly as Aramis slept. None of the other four men left the room, taking turns watching over him while the others tried—and failed—to sleep.

A few hours after midnight, Aramis suddenly became restless, making soft noises and shifting under the blankets. Everyone came closer, but they weren't sure if they should wake him, not knowing how he would react.

Treville, remembering how Aramis had thought him to be his father, reached out to gently smooth back Aramis' hair, hoping that it would soothe him.

Eyes still closed, Aramis turned his head towards him, but his eyebrows were furrowed and he was breathing heavier. "Don't do it," he suddenly said.

"Be calm, Aramis," Treville risked saying. "You're safe."

Aramis appeared to settle for a few seconds, before his eyes popped open and he shouted, "Athos!"

Everyone was taken by surprise, and Athos reached out to touch his arm.

Aramis looked at him and dove out of the bed, grabbing Athos by his shirt and looking into his face. "Spit them out, Athos! They're poison!" With that, he shook him, as if Athos was deliberately disobeying.

"I haven't been poisoned, Aramis!" Athos said, reaching up to grab his friend's arms. " _You_ have!"

"But I saw what they did to you!" Aramis exclaimed, breathing heavily. He shook him again, but there wasn't much strength behind it.

Treville, Porthos, and d'Artagnan stood by helplessly, afraid that interfering would make the situation worse.

"Listen to me, Athos, or you're going to die!" Aramis told him, before trying to pull him towards the window.

Athos submitted, following Aramis' stumbling gait and holding him up without Aramis even realizing. Once they reached the window, Aramis let go of Athos with one hand to push the shutters open, but all he succeeded in was leaning against the wall.

Athos knew what Aramis was trying to do and opened the shutters, before leaning out the window and spitting. "There, Aramis, I'm fine now."

Aramis closed his eyes for a moment and leaned his head against the wall, practically gasping as his body protested the exertion that he wasn't fit for. He eyes suddenly opened and he grabbed Athos again. "No, it's too late! I was too late!" His body started to visibly shake.

Athos wrapped his arms around Aramis to keep him upright, wincing when he felt how fast his heart was beating again. "No you weren't, Aramis, I'm fine, look at me."

Aramis did, but his eyes looked glassy and dazed. He appeared confused for few seconds before saying, "Where's Porthos, did he catch them?"

"I caught them," Porthos spoke up. "They're dead, Aramis, they can't hurt anyone every again."

At the word 'hurt', Aramis tightened his grip on Athos' shirt. "You ate poison!"

"No I didn't, Aramis!" Athos insisted. "Do you think Porthos, d'Artagnan, and the captain would just be standing here if I'd been poisoned?"

Aramis blinked. "No, they wouldn't."

Athos nodded. "That's right. Now come, you need to rest." He gently tugged him towards the bed, and Aramis submitted...at first.

"No," Aramis repeated. "They wouldn't." With that, he grabbed Treville's pistol, which the captain had foolishly placed on the nightstand hours earlier after removing his weapons to get comfortable for the night.

The others didn't expect it, and Aramis yanked on Athos, pulling him away from the bed as he pointed the pistol at the others.

"Who _are_ you?!" Aramis exclaimed. "What have you done with my friends?!"

Treville, Porthos, and d'Artagnan all raised their arms.

"Aramis!" said Athos, reaching for the gun.

Aramis stepped to the side, almost tripping himself. "No, they've fooled you, Athos! Get behind me!" With that, he tried to push him behind himself.

Athos let him, intending to reach over Aramis' shoulder to grab the gun, but before he had a chance, Aramis turned and pushed him again. "Over there, near the window! Get as far away from them as possible!"

Athos took a step closer to him. "But Aramis—"

"GO!" Aramis shouted. Sweat appeared on his face and he hunched over a little as he suddenly had to fight to breathe.

Athos moved a few feet away, looking at the others as if to say, 'distract him!'

"Let's talk about this, Aramis," said Treville, as Athos quietly crept closer again.

"What's to...talk about?" Aramis struggled to say. "You hurt my friends...my brothers. I can't...can't let you...live." He raised the gun higher and it shook in his grasp.

"Aramis, help!" Athos suddenly said.

At that, Aramis turned, just as Athos reached for the gun.

The others rushed over and all five of them ended up on the floor. The gun was knocked away where it slid across the room, and Aramis was left fighting them as he tried to get away from who he thought were his enemies. His struggles were weak and ineffective, and he was soon pinned to the floor where he lay gasping.

"Aramis!" said Athos. "They're gone; you saved us. We're all here and fine."

Aramis looked up at them, saying nothing as he tried to catch his breath. Suddenly he closed his eyes and the tension left his body. Everyone frowned when he suddenly winced, and quickly loosened their hold on him.

Porthos suddenly realized that there was something wet on his hand, and he let go of Aramis' arm to find that blood had seeped through his friend's sleeve and was all over his palm. "No," he gasped, realizing that he'd been gripping the bullet graze on his friend's arm.

Treville quickly took charge. "Get him back in bed," he said, before crossing over to the shelf where Aramis kept his medical supplies.

Athos and Porthos carefully pulled an unresisting Aramis off the floor, who was completely limp, his head tiredly falling forward. He gave no reaction as he was laid down, eyes closed as he continued to breathe heavily.

Treville returned as Athos ripped a hole in the now-ruined shirt, displaying the row of torn stitches. Treville looked at Porthos, who stared hauntedly at the blood on his hand—blood that he had accidentally drawn from his closest friend. Looking at Athos, Treville's gaze was met by emotion that he rarely saw in the other man's eyes. D'Artagnan looked stunned at the entire incident, and it was obvious that the situation was greatly taxing all three of them. Treville realized that what had just happened with Aramis was only one of the harrowing incidents that the others had been dealing with for nearly thirty-six hours. He wet a cloth in the basin of water and handed it to Athos, gesturing towards Porthos.

Athos took it and wordlessly headed over to him.

Treville looked at Aramis' face, relieved to see that his breathing had slowed down a little. "Aramis?" he said. "I'm going to replace the torn stitches in your arm. Is that all right?"

Aramis nodded, to his surprise, and Treville took the tweezers and started picking out the broken threads. He spared a glance to the others, seeing Porthos wiping the blood off his hand while d'Artagnan laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. It was obvious to Treville that they'd had as much of this situation as they could take.

Porthos sighed and sat on the bed beside Aramis, laying a hand on his good arm.

Aramis remained mostly still as his arm was restitched, flinching from the pain, but never opening his eyes or speaking. After Treville was finished and his arm was rebandaged, Aramis finally looked at them.

The others stared back, searching for any indication that their friend was coherent.

"Aramis?" Treville finally said. "Are you with us?"

It took a few agonizing seconds before Aramis nodded slightly, closing his eyes with a heavy sigh. He was still breathing heavily, his body shaking.

Athos headed over to the dresser and took out one of Aramis' shirts. He and Porthos gently dressed him with it before piling blankets over him, giving him time to get his bearings.

"What—what happened?" Aramis suddenly asked.

Considering the circumstances, that was the best question he could've asked them.

Porthos, sitting on the bed, gave a wide smile. "You're back, Aramis? Really back?"

Aramis blinked at that, looking confused. "Where've I been?"

Athos frowned; perhaps Aramis wasn't as coherent as they thought. "Locked away in your mind after being poisoned with belladonna."

Aramis suddenly startled and tried to sit up, pulling his arms out from under the blankets and wincing from moving his injured one. "They thought I was someone else and wanted something from me!"

"You shouldn't move, Aramis," said Treville, covering him up.

Aramis was breathing too fast again, resisting lying flat.

"Sit 'im up," Porthos said, moving to pull Aramis upright while d'Artagnan stood the pillows up behind his back.

Aramis submitted, and was calmer once Porthos leaned him back against them. He was still shaking, whether an effect of the poison or feeling cold, they weren't sure.

Treville again made sure that Aramis was completely covered. "What did the men want?" he asked, not sure if it was true or another hallucination.

"I don't know," Aramis answered. "They never said."

"How many berries did they make you eat?" Athos asked.

At that, Aramis frowned. "Berries?" he echoed, his lucidity waning.

"There were bushes everywhere," said d'Artagnan. "And I found berries on the ground near you."

Aramis said nothing, looking confused.

Porthos sighed; disappointed that Aramis' mind was still suffering the effects. "That's all right, Aramis, just rest. If you remember the berries, you tell us, all right?"

Aramis nodded, before closing his eyes with another sigh. "I'm cold," he said, shivering harder.

Treville felt his forehead and found that he still had a fever. "Sleep," he said, brushing Aramis' hair away from his face. "You'll be fine, I promise you."

Aramis said nothing else, and his body relaxed into slumber a few minutes later.

TBC


	4. Recovery

Hey everyone! I felt fine all week so I postponed the ultrasound. I can tell that the kidney stone is still there because I get twinges once in a while, (I named it 'Sidney de la Kidney' LOL) but I want to give it more time to pass by itself before submitting to surgery. Keep praying for me that it does!

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The rest of the night passed quietly, to everyone's relief. Breakfast came and went, and Aramis didn't wake again until nearly lunchtime.

Everyone was in the room except for Treville when a soft groan filled the air.

Porthos was sitting on the side of the bed having just checked the status of Aramis' fever, and he grasped his shoulder. "Hey!" he said. "You awake?"

It took a moment, but Aramis slowly opened his eyes and blinked up at the three faces above him. "Yes," he whispered. He frowned with thought, before asking, "What happened?"

"You were poisoned with belladonna," Athos told him once again.

"How long?"

All three of them were surprised at the question. Did Aramis finally remember?

"Two days ago," d'Artagnan answered.

Aramis blinked weakly as he processed the information. "Garrison?"

"Yes," Porthos said, smiling. "We're home."

Aramis sighed with relief. "Good." He tiredly closed his eyes, before reopening them and looking at Porthos. "Yes...I'm back."

Porthos' smile could've split his face in two when he heard Aramis coherently answer his question from the previous night. "It's about time!" he exclaimed. "You have _no_ idea how much you terrified us, Aramis!"

"Sorry," Aramis tiredly mumbled.

Athos reached over to grasp his arm. "No apologies, Aramis; just rest."

Aramis closed his eyes again.

"Do you remember how many berries they fed you?" Athos asked.

Aramis was quiet, and they thought he'd fallen back to sleep before he suddenly said, "They told me…six or seven..."

Everyone's hearts seized in their chests. How had he survived?!

"No," Aramis said. "Spit out...most...of them. Chewed all...swallowed...two?" His voice grew weaker the more he spoke.

Porthos put a comforting hand on Aramis' head. "All right, quiet now."

Athos looked at d'Artagnan. "Fetch some soup; tell the captain that he's coherent."

D'Artagnan nodded and rushed out.

Athos and Porthos watched Aramis as he lay quietly, breathing a little too fast with lines of distress around his eyes.

Porthos squeezed his arm. "Are you in pain?" he asked.

"Headache," Aramis whispered.

Porthos sighed and ran a hand over their friend's hair in an attempt to soothe it. "Your stomach all right?" he asked, having no idea what other effects the belladonna could have on a body. "D'Artagnan is fetching you some soup."

Aramis nodded slightly, which was encouraging.

A minute later, Treville came in. Athos stood from where he sat on the bed so the captain could take his place.

"Aramis?" said Treville.

Aramis opened his eyes halfway and gave him a slight smile.

Sighing with relief, Treville smiled back and clasped his shoulder. "It's good to see you awake. How do you feel?"

It took a moment for Aramis to answer. His mind felt detached and he felt like he was viewing everything from afar. "Dizzy...headache. Feel like...I'm floating."

Treville nodded. "You pulled through, Aramis. You'll be fine."

Aramis smiled slightly again before closing his eyes.

D'Artagnan eventually came back with the soup and it became evident that Aramis was too weak to feed himself. He was unable to sit up on his own and Porthos pulled him upright while Athos stood up the pillows behind him.

Aramis' head fell forward when he was unable to hold it up, alarming the others, who didn't expect it.

"Aramis?" said Treville, quickly sitting on the bed and grabbing both sides of his face.

"Sorry," Aramis mumbled, eyes closed.

"You have nothing to apologize for," Treville told him. His words brought back the memory of saying the same thing to him the night before, and he wondered if Aramis remembered mistaking him for his father.

Porthos took the bowl from d'Artagnan and fed an unresistant Aramis, while Athos held onto their sick friend's arm to keep him upright. It took a long time to get the soup into him, and he was unable to finish it all, growing too weak to cooperate.

They laid him back down and stared at him as he slept.

"Is such extreme weakness normal?" d'Artagnan asked.

Treville sighed. "Perhaps we should get the doctor back here."

"I'll fetch him," d'Artagnan said. Without waiting for a response, he quickly left.

Porthos remained sitting on the side of the bed, staring at Aramis' pale face. He suddenly remembered Aramis' condition after Savoy; he'd hoped that their friend would never again be rendered so weak, and Porthos was upset to see him once again in such a state.

The doctor came quickly, and was glad to find Aramis still alive, especially considering that he'd been fed so many berries. "If he'd swallowed them all, he would've died quickly," he said.

No one had the emotional strength to answer.

The doctor did a thorough exam of Aramis, not seeming surprised when he didn't wake during it. "He's the most severe case of belladonna poisoning I've ever seen, but I think he'll live," he told the others. "Considering everything you've told me, especially about his heart, such weakness is likely normal. If he hasn't regained any strength by the day after tomorrow, I might reconsider my opinion."

Everyone was silent.

The doctor checked Aramis' pulse again, still noting some irregularity. He looked at Treville. "Even after he regains his strength, keep him off-duty until I say so. His heart has barely managed to handle the effects of the belladonna."

Treville nodded.

The doctor saw how upset everyone was. "Have hope; he's made it this far, so I won't be surprised if he makes it all the way." He gave them an encouraging smile, and left.

Porthos heaved a loud sigh once he was gone.

Aramis slept for the rest of the day and all through the evening, waking near midnight. He blearily blinked open his eyes without a sound, and simply looked around.

Everyone was sleeping in chairs around the bed, except for Athos, who was currently on watch. When he saw Aramis' eyes open, he smiled slightly and shifted to sit on the bed. "How are you feeling?" he whispered.

Aramis took a few seconds to answer, as his mind still felt foggy. "Confused."

Athos wasn't surprised. "About what?"

"I…remember things," said Aramis, tiredly. "Things that…don't make sense."

Athos poured some water and carefully lifted him up slightly to drink it. "Like what?"

"Wolves," Aramis told him. "Blue leaves…crows." He drank every drop of the water.

Athos poured more and continued to make him drink. "Are you in any pain?"

Aramis drank all of it again. "Head…chest."

That sent a shiver down Athos' spine, though he figured he shouldn't be surprised considering the awful strain on Aramis' heart. "Just rest; you'll be fine."

Aramis closed his eyes as Athos lowered him back down, and laid quietly until suddenly saying, "Sorry."

Athos frowned. "For what?"

"I think…I did something…to you?"

Athos shook his head, knowing that Aramis must be remembering thinking that _he'd_ been poisoned. "No, Aramis, you tried to help me."

"Oh," Aramis whispered, eyes still closed. He suddenly gave a weak cough.

Athos frowned at the unexpected development, and placed a hand on his arm. "You all right?"

Aramis didn't answer, coughing again.

Athos frowned and tightened his grip. "Aramis," he sternly said.

A wince spread across Aramis' features, and he closed his eyes, raising a hand to his chest and trying to curl onto his side.

Athos helped him turn over before saying again, "Aramis? What is it?"

Aramis was still wincing, eyes closed.

Athos wrapped his fingers around his friend's wrist to check his pulse, and found it beating irregularly. "Aramis, if you don't answer me right now, I'll wake the others and get the doctor back here." In actuality, he was surprised that none of the others had woken, though they _were_ whispering and he knew that everyone was exhausted.

Aramis opened his eyes and took a shuddering breath. "No…doctor. It's...passing."

"What is? Pain in your chest?"

Aramis nodded.

Athos sighed, forcing himself to remain outwardly calm for his friend's sake. Could the belladonna have permanently damaged Aramis' heart?

Aramis blinked a few times, exhaling as his body relaxed.

"Is the pain gone?" Athos asked.

Aramis nodded, blinking tiredly.

"Go back to sleep," Athos told him.

Aramis closed his eyes and obeyed.

Athos remained beside him with his fingers on his pulse, and noted that though Aramis' heart gave extra beats, it was steady and strong...or as strong as it could be, considering. In light of that, he decided not to fetch the doctor until morning.

Two hours later, Treville woke up and offered to take over. Athos motioned for him to follow him to the corner of the room so as not to wake the others, and he told him what had happened.

Treville was alarmed. "You should've woken us!"

Athos shook his head. "It didn't even last thirty seconds."

"What if his heart had given out and he needed help?" Treville hissed.

Athos sighed. "It the pain hadn't passed so quickly, I would have woken the entire _garrison_ if I had to!"

Treville sighed before nodding, knowing that Athos would never knowingly do something to risk his friend's life. They both headed back to the bed, and Treville took over the watch...keeping his fingers on Aramis' pulse, as Athos had done.

Athos found it difficult to go back to sleep. When he suddenly opened his eyes and found sunlight shining into the room, he was surprised.

Porthos was sitting on the bed, staring at Aramis and holding his hand.

Athos suddenly realized that his fingers were on their friend's pulse, just he and Treville had done. "Has he woken?" he asked.

"No," said Porthos. "Treville told us what happened."

Athos turned his head to find that d'Artagnan was gone from the room. "It didn't happen again, then?" he asked.

Porthos shook his head.

Athos was relieved at that. "He sent d'Artagnan for the doctor, I assume?"

Porthos nodded.

It wasn't long before the doctor arrived and quickly checked Aramis over. "His heartbeat seems better than it did yesterday," he said. "Just ensure that he continues to rest. Sleep is the best thing for him; belladonna takes days to leave the body."

Everyone was encouraged by that, and even though they wanted to see Aramis awake, they let him sleep through breakfast and lunch. When he finally woke in the early afternoon, they were overjoyed to see him looking less tired; his eyes were fully open instead of halfway.

"How long has it been?" was his first question.

"Three days," Athos told him.

Aramis didn't seem surprised. "Did I…hurt anyone?" he asked, his memory not completely intact.

Everyone shook their heads.

Aramis stared at them for a few seconds, and was relieved to see that they were telling the truth.

"How do you feel?" Porthos asked.

"Better," Aramis told them. "Not so…confused."

"Do you remember everything?" d'Artagnan asked.

"I'm not sure," Aramis said. "Some things are…hazy."

Everyone was overjoyed to see that Aramis seemed stronger, even if only a little.

"Is there any pain in your chest?" Treville asked.

"No," Aramis told him. Suddenly he frowned before his face dawned with shock, making everyone nervous.

"Aramis?" said Porthos, grabbing his arm.

Aramis looked at him, before glancing at d'Artagnan and Treville and back to Porthos again. "I tried to shoot you!" he realized.

Of everything he could've remembered; they'd wished that it hadn't been _that._

"You weren't in your right mind," said Athos.

Aramis looked at him. "Athos...I thought you...and then I..."

"Calm down right now," Treville said, grasping his shoulder. "Getting upset isn't good for your heart."

Aramis was breathing heavily. "What if I'd fired?"

"But you didn't," said d'Artagnan.

Aramis looked away and tried to remember who he'd actually been aiming at, but was pulled away from his thoughts when someone tightly grasped his hand.

It was Athos. "Aramis, look at me."

Aramis did.

"Feel this?" Athos said, raising their joined hands. "This is real; what the belladonna made you think was _not_. You knew who they were despite what the poison was saying, and I know that you would _not_ have fired, even had we not taken the gun away from you."

Aramis stared at him, saying nothing. His breathing was audible, and it was obvious that his heartbeat had increased.

"You would not have fired, Aramis," Athos repeated, desperate to calm him down before Aramis' anxious state caused harm to his heart. "Say it; 'I would not have fired'."

"I would not have fired," Aramis repeated.

"Good. Every time you think of that incident, say to yourself; 'I would not have fired'. Say it."

"I would not have fired," Aramis repeated again. "I would not have fired." He looked at Porthos—his closest friend—and the thought of seeing him bloody and dead on the floor by his own hand made his resolve crumble. "Porthos—"

"You would not have fired, Aramis," Porthos told him.

Aramis looked away.

"They're right," said d'Artagnan. "We saw you, Aramis. You would not have fired."

Aramis looked at him with hope in his eyes. Was he perhaps not remembering the whole incident?

Treville picked up on his thoughts and decided to embellish the facts. "You raised the gun, but you lowered it after," he lied. "You realized who we were, Aramis, but we had to take the gun from you anyway."

"Of course you did," Aramis agreed. He suddenly closed his eyes and let out a heavy breath as he finally believed their words. "I would not have fired," he whispered, with relief.

Everyone gave him a moment to collect himself before quickly changing the subject, lest he start doubting himself again.

"You need to eat," Treville told him, heading to the fire where Serge's special soup was warming in a pot.

Aramis was quiet as he fetched it, calming down and catching his breath as the captain brought it back. His brain still felt foggy and he wondered when he'd be able to think straight again.

Porthos took the soup from Treville and sat on the bed with a twinkle in his eye. "All the way from the pope's cook in Italy," he said to Aramis.

Aramis looked at him askance, before understanding dawned in his eyes. "I actually said that?"

Everyone nodded. "Amongst other things," Porthos answered.

Aramis chuckled...and it was the most welcome sound they could've ever heard.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

After that day, Aramis steadily recovered. He had no more chest pains but his mind was still foggy and his body was still weak. His heart would throw an extra beat once in a while, so the doctor told him not to get out of bed and his friends enforced it. A week after he'd been poisoned by the belladonna, the doctor said that he could get up, and Aramis was eager to do so.

"Hold on, there!" said Porthos, reaching out to grab him when Aramis threw back the covers. "Not so fast."

Aramis sighed. "Porthos, I am _desperate_ to get out of this bed."

"Are you desperate to fall flat on your face?" said d'Artagnan.

Aramis rolled his eyes and watched as Athos fetched him some clothes. They helped him dress and Porthos sat beside him to pull one of his arms around his neck before Aramis had a chance to stand.

"Porthos—" he started to say.

"Stop right there," Porthos interrupted. "You have no idea what your heart was doin' the first two days. I either help you walk or you go back into bed."

Aramis quieted after seeing the apprehensive looks on his friend's faces. They were obviously afraid to see how his heart was going to react to exertion. He submitted as Porthos helped him stand, and watched as everyone stared as if waiting for him to pass out. He tried to hide the dizzy spell that struck him, but didn't succeed.

"Aramis?" said Athos, holding onto his other arm.

"I'm fine," Aramis told them. He blinked a few times before trying to take a step, but they held him back. With a sigh, Aramis lifted his wrist towards Athos, knowing that the only way he was going to get out of the room was if they were satisfied that his heart was beating normally.

Athos placed his fingers on Aramis' wrist, and a few seconds later, he nodded at Porthos.

Aramis gave him a bright smile and started slowly walking out of the room. By the time they got to the top of the stairs, he was breathing heavily and Athos was checking his pulse again.

Aramis looked out on the courtyard, seeing musketeers milling about. No one had noticed him yet, and he was glad, slightly annoyed at how much the other three were hovering. He hid it though, understanding that they'd been through hell watching him suffer from the poison.

"Your heartbeat is fast," Athos said.

"Of course it is," Aramis answered. "I'm finally moving after lying in bed for a week! Is it skipping?"

"No."

"Is it doing extra beats?"

Athos waited a few seconds before saying, "No."

"Has it stopped?"

"Not funny, Aramis!" said d'Artagnan.

Aramis sobered. "I'm sorry, that was insensitive. Blame my foggy mind." He winced, having not wanted them to know that he still felt off. "Athos, it's normal for my heart to react. Trust me."

Athos looked at him silently, and Aramis could see the emotion that only him, Porthos, d'Artagnan, and Treville were ever allowed to witness.

"I'm sorry, my friends, for what you've been through all this time," Aramis said. He remembered most of the hallucinations that he'd had, and didn't know how on earth the others had dealt with it all.

"It's not your fault," said Porthos. He looked at Athos and gestured with his head down the stairs.

Athos nodded, and they carefully helped Aramis descend them.

Once at the bottom, they quickly sat Aramis down at the table, and Athos checked his pulse again. It wasn't doing anything alarming, so everyone relaxed.

They let Aramis spend most of the day outside, which was a balm to his soul. The sun was shining, the weather was warm, and it was a beautiful day…unlike the bizarre things he'd seen in his mind…snow, cold, purple leaves…crows…

Aramis started to feel uneasy as nighttime approached. Memories of the hallucinations he'd suffered kept coming to his mind once the sun had set, and he wondered why it was bothering him now, a week after the incident.

"Aramis?" came Porthos' voice, as they ate supper in his room.

Aramis looked at him.

"Are you all right? You're pale," Porthos told him.

"He hasn't _stopped_ being pale yet," said d'Artagnan.

Porthos shot him an exasperated look. "I mean _paler._ "

"Porthos is right," Athos said.

"I'm fine," Aramis told them.

After a predictable check of his pulse showed that his heart was beating normally, they made him go to sleep, and Aramis' dreams plunged him back into the cold forest of Savoy…

 _Dead musketeers lay all around Aramis, but one of them was unexpectedly alive. "Porthos!" he exclaimed._

 _No answer came, and Aramis stared at his closest friend who knelt on the ground with crows standing on him._

 _"Porthos!" Aramis said again. "You weren't in Savoy."_

 _Porthos looked up at him and didn't say a word._

"Aramis! Wake up!"

With a gasp, Aramis did, finding his three friends around his bed. Porthos was sitting on it beside him, and Aramis grabbed his arms. "You weren't in Savoy!"

Porthos frowned. "No, I wasn't!"

Aramis tried to catch his breath, and was eventually aware of Athos checking his pulse for the hundredth time. His mind was still foggy and he felt disoriented. "Stop it!" he exclaimed in frustration.

Athos let go.

The three of them simply sat around him, quietly giving Aramis time to collect himself.

"I saw you," Aramis finally said to Porthos. "Sitting on the ground with…crows on you."

Porthos nodded. "The same thing happened after you were poisoned. We thought you'd forgotten when you never mentioned it with the other things you remembered."

"And we certainly weren't going to remind you," said d'Artagnan.

Aramis took a deep breath and let it out loudly.

"Go back to sleep," said Athos. "We are all here should you need us."

In an instant, Aramis' mind suddenly cleared, as if his brain had been waiting to hear that. Aramis nodded and closed his eyes. As he drifted off towards slumber again, he thanked God that his friends were _always_ there when he needed them…and he knew that they always would be.

THE END


End file.
